


(I Lay) In the Hollow of Your Heart

by orphan_account



Series: Remember Me (But Forget My Fate) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alive Mary Winchester, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mary Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Mary Winchester, Season/Series 12, The Winchester parents aren't great at raising their children, mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The door creaked open – sounding as old as it probably was – to reveal a visitor not entirely unexpected, but certainly not Sam.





	(I Lay) In the Hollow of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes the urge to just write completely unnecessary fanfiction that nobody wanted or asked for just overcomes you. And thus, this extremely self-indulgent work was born.

(I Lay) In the Hollow of your Heart

It was late. The bunker was silent at the best of times, but during the night – without either of her boys banging around, or that strange little angel they'd picked up like a stray – it was especially quiet. Which was precisely why the unexpected knock on her bedroom door seemed to ring so loudly throughout the compound.

Softly she closed her late husband's journal, sliding her fingers over its leather-bound cover before granting a soft, “enter” to whomever was outside her door, suspecting it to be her youngest son, Sam, as he had visited her multiple times today with an expression that had grown sadder with each when she inevitably told him that Dean had not yet returned from wherever he'd run off to.

Apparently heard from outside, the door creaked open – sounding as old as it probably was – to reveal a visitor not _entirely_ unexpected, but certainly not Sam. For a second, all she could do was blink blankly and stare, but then the name escaped her on a breathy whisper, though she managed to contain the surprise within it.

“Dean.”

Clinging to the doorknob and clutching the brass as though it were a lifeline, stood her eldest, wearing an expression filled with so many different emotions that it was hard to know where one ended and another began. They each tangled together like lost threads, colours swirling together to create one alarming mass of emotion that the weight of them would've made Mary's knees buckle had she been standing. Few raw, undisguised emotions stood out: upset, discomfort, worry, and the sight of them made her heart break, especially when Dean registered their showing and quickly wiped his features clean, as though he thought she would punish him for _feeling_.

_Is that what John did?_

A shudder when down her spine at the unwanted thought, so she pushed it away as quickly as she could and refocused herself on Dean.

“Mom,” he answered in reply, this time allowing a twinge of guilt to slide through into the space between them. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” she nodded, sliding over on her bed and patting the place beside her.

He didn't take up the place beside her though. Instead, he finally let go of the doorknob and pushed the door closed behind him before standing in the center of the room, looking supremely uncomfortable and with hands clasped behind his back.

She could see her own Dean here. Head hanging with shame when he thought he'd done something naughty, a five-year-old close to tears.

“I'm sorry,” were his next words, blurted out like they'd burned his tongue. “I shouldn't have yelled at you. I didn't mean… all that stuff.”

The silence hung thickly between them, her son not daring to look up at her. She wondered what he thought he would see, or perhaps what he _feared_ he would see. Anger? Hurt? _Rejection?_ Is that how he'd been parented? Is that all John had given him? Given she'd spent her last few hours pouring over the only record of their father her boys had, she recognised the space her husband's head had been in. The man had been obsessed with finding the thing that had killed her, borderline possessed with a hunger that drove him when everything else had been extinguished. He'd become a monster, maybe not quite the things he hunted, but certainly some kind.

“I'm sorry too,” she eventually replied, sparking him to jerk his head up with surprise. “I… I talked things over with Sam. There were some… _things_ I wasn't aware of before.”

Dean's legs suddenly seemed to move against his will and in a matter of moments he was sitting on the bed beside her, his hand clasping hers as he shook his head.

“No,” he argued, still shaking his head. “No this is all _my_ fault. I was being stupid and―”

“ _Dean_ ,” she cut him off, giving his hand a soft squeeze. Somehow, as she'd predicted, the small gesture silenced him. He simply stared blankly back at her, so she continued.

“I'm not perfect,” she began again softly, locking eyes with him. “I'm _not_. Things are different now because you've grown up and you can see my imperfections – you just don't _want_ to.”

At that, his mouth dropped open in preparation for argument, but she gently shushed him before going on.

“You're not five anymore, Dean. Neither of us know how our relationship is supposed to carry on after so much time has passed, I understand that, but I can't _be_ what you remember because I never _was_ what you remember. None of us are perfect―” at this point she held up John's diary and pressed it into her son's hands, “―so let me be myself. Let me be your mother, but don't hold me against the one you knew.”

Hurt and a twinge of fear bloomed across Dean's face. He looked so young and fragile as his eyes dropped down to the journal.

“You're right,” he said with a huff, a mask for the other emotions he wished to keep inside. “ _I_ just don't know who to be. After you were gone… I wasn't five anymore. Dad wouldn't allow it. But now that you're here… It's stupid, but I keep thinking things should go back to the way they were, even though I know that's impossible.”

“It's not stupid,” she replied softly. “When you're ready we can start anew, but for now let's just start by being in each others lives as ourselves.”

Dean set his shoulders down, chest broader as a result. But Mary counted it as a win because he looked less defeated than before, an understanding blossoming over his face.

“Let's give it time, hm?” she squeezed his hand once more and got a smile in return.

“Yeah,” he breathed back, already leaning in for the hug she was offering.

It gave her hope for the future. Maybe there was nothing she could do about the past, but perhaps, given time, she could have her family again. Maybe she could make up for lost time.


End file.
